Secretary To A Wizard
by Thalia Weaver
Summary: It's around now. If Gandalf ran a company- his secretary's story. 2/?
1. To Quit And To Place An Ad

Secretary To A Wizard  
  
Chapter One  
  
Today was one of those days. It had started off mediocre- the sun had been shining, albeit behind clouds. It drifted down to 'bad' when the coffee machine broke, and graduated to 'worse' with the advent of a scalded hand after the teapot went berserk. And so, caffeine-starved and bedraggled, I stormed out the door, trailing a stream of colorful expletives behind me.  
  
By the time I got to the huge square of concrete that passed as my office building, my hopes for improvement on that not-so-glamorous beginning were as high as the bottom of a dung heap. I knew perfectly well that I hadn't gotten this job because of my typing speed of 41 WPM- the boss was notorious for picking young, nubile secretaries. I suppose I should have been flattered, but I could only ignore the boss' subtle-as-a- steamroller advances for so long.  
  
I sighed as I reached my (tiny) desk, next to the boss'. I could see him almost visibly lick his lips upon my arrival. Good grief, what a sad specimen of middle-aged humanity- complete with spots, freckles, wrinkles and bad teeth. The 'subtle' hints he kept dropping with a waggle of his bushy eyebrows were getting increasingly more frequent and invasive. I was going to have to quit soon, and I didn't have another job.  
  
Then, the boss walked over. I prepared for the worst.  
  
"Hello, Miss Weaver," he said, leaning over. I could smell a potent mix of cigars, brandy and chocolate. Was he looking down my shirt?  
  
"Mister Grinstead!" I exclaimed, standing up. "If you don't stop advancing on me, I'll quit! Better yet, I quit now."  
  
He handed me my paycheck with a look of defeated resignation. I couldn't help feeling relieved, but at the same time, I still didn't have a job. $300 wasn't going to last me more than a few weeks, and even though I'd graduated from Yale Drama, I was having trouble finding work in my true passion- dramatic arts.  
  
I had a cousin who worked at the Globe, so I pulled a few strings and managed to get an ad in:  
  
SECRETARY FOR HIRE  
  
41 WPM, EXPERIENCED  
  
Call Thalia Weaver 124-356-9870 or email SecretaryOfState@typo.net  
  
The next day, I found a few e-mails in my inbox. They were from H&Rblock@secretarialdept.net, Officeguy325@Macys.com, and- this one really caught my eye- WizardStaff@IstariOffice.org. I decided to take a chance on the third one- I was looking for something more interesting this time, and I was curious. 


	2. Job Interview

My job interview was scheduled for eight-thirty. At eight, I tugged on a neat pinstriped dress that I'd been saving until such time as I was forced to quit my job.  
  
I boarded the subway, got off at my station and walked a few blocks until I reached my destination- 14 West 56th Street, a small green hump of a building that looked odd with the surrounding behemoths. Shrugging off any outward signs of nervousness, I entered the round brown door.  
  
"You must be the secretary! Welcome in, welcome in." This cheerful speech came from a very short woman (even shorter than my five foot one inch- she must have been no more than four foot five!), who seemed to be barefoot. I gulped- this seemed to be a very strange working environment. I sincerely hoped the boss could keep his hands to himself.  
  
I was ushered down a long hallway with brown wallpaper and a soft, luxurious carpet. The boss' office (as I assumed it was) was straight out of a movie- huge fireplace and leather chair (turned to the wall, of course) included. The chair spun around, not without a certain amount of melodramatic flair. The boss was very old, with a long white beard and long white hair. He looked very wise, not the sexual-assaulting type at all, and the short woman ("Estella", her tag read) seemed very much at ease.  
  
"You may go," he told Estella, in a voice which completely fit his 'wise old mentor' exterior.  
  
"Now, you, Miss Weaver," he told me, fixing his blue eyes on me- my eyes, I noticed- so much the better, at least he wasn't looking lower "are the candidate for secretary? This is a very important job in a company such as Istari Offices."  
  
"What do you…do here?" I asked. The last thing I wanted was to sign on to a company that sold illegal drugs, or wrote porn, or something.  
  
"We…" he stopped. "You'll have to take the test first."  
  
I didn't like the sound of this. "Test?"  
  
"Yes…typing. I believe you said 41 WPM?"  
  
I relaxed slightly, "Yes."  
  
After the preemptory Mavis Beacon-esque tests, he seemed to be satisfied.  
  
"Well! You're hired, Miss Weaver. Here's the required reading list."  
  
Required reading list??? What kind of job was this anyway?  
  
"Your wages: seven hundred a week."  
  
Seven hundred? I shut up. For a wage like that, I'd do almost anything!  
  
He handed me a stack of books.  
  
"Read these for next week. Your job starts Monday," he told me. "Here's three hundred in advance."  
  
After putting away the money in my purse, I took a look at the stack in my hands.  
  
The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, Unfinished Tales, The Histories of Middle Earth?? What? What kind of job was this anyway? At least these weren't illegal contraband or something. Shrugging, I went back to prepare for the big job and to read all those books. 


	3. Work

Secretary To A Wizard  
  
Chapter Three: Work  
The circles under my eyes had reached epic proportions, my coffee consumption had   
gone up three hundred percent (that was saying something), and I looked like a zombie   
from an old '70s camp horror movie- but I had finished *all* of my required reading in   
three days. Granted, I hadn't retained much.   
  
I'd read the Lord of the Rings before, of course- it was the cool thing to do, back in   
college- and I'd begun the Silmarillion once or twice. The density of the prose had put   
me off a bit, and I had never really had the time to continue. The Histories of Middle   
Earth were even denser. But I was wise in the ways of Middle-Earth now; wise, and   
exhausted.   
  
However, the $300 had come in useful for paying the rent, and this was a job I could   
*not* afford to lose. It was Sunday morning when I shut the last volume of the Histories   
and began dozing off, my head hitting the table. Suddenly, an idea so odd occurred to me   
that it jolted me out of my semi-unconscious state.   
  
"Holy mother of a winky-frog!" I cried to the book in my lap. It ignored me. "Istari   
offices! Istari! WIZARDS!" I then smacked my own forehead.   
"WizardStaff@IstariOffices.Org…wow, that's a play on words there! Maybe it's some   
kind of Tolkien-promotion company. That would explain the…reading list." I sighed.   
"Looks like there are elves in my future."  
  
I then realized that I was talking to myself…again…a habit I could not rid myself of. Ah,   
well.   
  
"Istari Offices, huh?"  
  
-----/-----  
  
"You're late," my boss said, not looking up from the sheaves of paper he was riffling   
through.  
  
"I'm sorry…there was traffic and such," I said lamely. He merely grunted, and shoved a   
paper at me, looking disgruntled.   
  
"Read that."   
  
I obediently read it.  
  
' Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings Film Trilogy To Be $300m Blockbuster'  
  
I looked up. "They're making a LotR movie? Well, I hope it's better than the Bakshi   
version…" I snickered.   
  
"This is no laughing matter," the boss said grimly. "Do you know what this will do to   
the…oh."  
  
I simply stared blankly at him.  
  
"I have much to explain to you, Miss Weaver. Come, sit down."  
  
Fighting back some irrational trepidation, I sat on the plush chair opposite him as he   
began to talk.  
  
"You know all that has been revealed to the people of your world of Arda, do you not?"  
  
After some thought, I nodded.   
  
"What you do not know is…that Arda is real. It exists."  
  
I snorted. "Yeah, right. Stick some fur on my feet and call me a hobbit, okay?"   
  
He looked puzzled. "You believe me, then?"  
  
"No."  
  
"It is true!"  
  
"Prove it."  
  
He sighed. "Very well…come with me."  
  
Warily, I followed him. What kind of job was this, anyway?  
-Finit De Chaptorum- 


End file.
